The Dog Days Are Over
by reflecting
Summary: The little shit had a tendency to crash his investigations more often than not. He's still not sure if this is because of the unholy joy the bloodsucker takes in annoying the ever living hell out of Derek, or if Derek is simply handed the kind of cases Stilinski takes interest in. Either way, fuck his life, seriously.


**Pairing: **Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (pre-slash)

**Genre: **AU, Vampires and Werewolves, Crime solving

**Tags: **Vampire!Stiles, Werewolf!Derek, PI!Stiles, Agent!Derek

**Notes:** So this is just a short ficlet I'm not 100% I'll continue. I just burned to write it. But there's some notes at the end on more details on the Universe and the story as it is has potential to become more if I ever decide to pick it up.

For now, enjoy~!

(Please excuse any typos/grammatical errors, English isn't my first language and I have no beta).

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**.**

**THE DOG DAYS ARE OVER**

**.**

Agent Derek Hale surveyed the grisly scene before him with a grim expression, trying not to take too deep breaths through his nose as the coroner zipped yet another body bag with practiced ease a few yards away. Boyd was standing off to the side, leaning in close to inspect the photos taken by Lahey of the crime scene, murmuring quiet commentary to which Derek was only listening in on half-heartedly. Little was said around him he hadn't already taken into account himself from his initial assessment, his heightened senses missing very little in the grand scope of things. DNA, prints and other details would be dealt with by the technicians in his team powered with advanced technology rather than biology.

For now, all they knew was that these were the second set of victims within just a week, stinking of the same mysterious toxin, which in the previous cases hadn't been the cause of death but had paralyzed the victims so thoroughly the rigor mortis was rendered difficult to pin down. The actual cause of death, however, had remained consistent so far; a vicious set of non-werewolf claw marks ripping the bodies nearly in two. As of yet there were nothing to link the victims to each other, other than the way they were killed, and Derek was getting restless. He had hoped the first set of killings would be it, but by now, it had the markings of a serial killer case. He hated those.

A muted thud followed by a string of colorful curses broke him out of his musings with a start, causing him to quickly turn in the direction of the noises along with the other werewolves present on the scene. Sniffing the air cautiously, Derek couldn't pick anything up that seemed out of place, nor could he detect any heartbeats not belonging to the agents and technicians around him. Which could mean a number of things, really, but with his luck…

"Heeeey, Derek, my man!" a gangly youth exclaimed as he stumbled out around the corner of one of the dumpsters of the construction area they occupied, Reyes fisting the back of his coat with her claws out as she dragged him along. Derek sighed as the guy was promptly pushed in his direction, Reyes' smirk wide and fanged.

"Look what the smell of blood lured out of the shadows, boss!"

Ah, there it was – the bane of his wolf, the mountain ash in his eye, the taser in his side – Private Investigator P. "Stiles" Stilinski (first name unknown, lost to the centuries). Resident vampire and professional crime scene crasher, whose mild case of conspiracy theory syndrome had reached scary levels of focused paranoia after his father was killed in the line of duty. It had resulted in "Stilinski Investigations" whose idea of justice was not strictly defined by the law. They'd been under several investigations of illegal activities, mostly issued by Special Agent Chris Argent, but they always fell short on the smallest of things. It was well known there was a hacker of dubious morals employed by Stilinski, as well as an unknown connection to crime lord Deaton, but there was also talk of a powerful witch and quite possibly a leak in the city council as well as the SBI (the latter of which was the reason Argent had all but officially declared war on Stilinski and co.). In short, Stiles Stilinski was no small fry and whenever he came around to deal with things personally…let's just say the actual law enforcement rarely ended up looking very well.

Derek would know; the little shit had a tendency to crash his investigations more often than not. He's still not sure if this is because of the unholy joy the bloodsucker takes in annoying the ever living hell out of Derek, or if Derek is simply handed the kind of cases Stilinski takes interest in.

Either way, fuck his life, seriously.

"Stilinski," Derek growls, flexing his firsts, unreasonably annoyed at the fact he'd failed to detect the little shit _again_. But the lack of heartbeat, and the metallic scent of other's blood, made it unnervingly easy for the vampire to blend in circumstances like these.

"Aww, Dee-Dee, it's Stiles! I keep telling you!", the vampire chirped, skipping in close and reducing any illusion of personal space to tug playfully at the lapels of Derek's jacket. Pushing him away with Derek's hand on the vampire's chest, Stilinski grinned wide, fangs reigned in unlike some of the surrounding werewolves that were starting to get restless. Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a warning growl that had everyone step down. They should've learned by now.

"You're trespassing on a crime scene," Derek snapped, although he knew it was pointless because—

"—Not as such, big guy! I was staying well clear of it; it's your blonde little minion that actually dragged me across the sealed off area, you know," came the reply, unconcerned and brightly cheerful. Hardly unexpected. Derek really needed some coffee, or maybe a bottle of whiskey laced with wolf's bane. Or a plausible cause of arrest, so he could slap on some handcuffs and at least attempt to prevent disaster, but no, Stilinski in handcuffs never ended well for Derek either. It was a slightly too satisfying sight to be comfortable; Derek really didn't need a gay vampire crisis to work through on top (bad choice of words, Derek, _bad_) of everything, thank you.

"Just get out of here, Stilinski," Derek sighed after a few moments of glaring at the stupidly wide grin on the pale man. Stilinski gave a taunting salute and left with a wink, turning on his heels and sprinting off with the alarming speed of his species, leaving the scent of old blood behind that never failed to make Derek wrinkle his nose in discomfort. It was unsettling how Stilinski's scent was never the same, though it was understandable, as he had no stable source of blood in form of either non-vampire mate or "companion" (it was no longer politically correct to refer to the latter as either pets or blood banks). It was unusual nowadays for vampires Stilinski's age to remain unattached in one way or another, but Derek assumed his line of work was about as conductive to fostering close personal relations as his own.

Shaking his head to dispel further thoughts on the matter (personal relations and Stilinski – that way madness lie), Derek went to address Reyes. "Next time, just alert me of his presence so I can go confront him, instead of you practically giving him a tour of the crime scene."

Wincing, Reyes looked away for a bit before titling her head in thought. "You think he really got anything out of it?"

Derek resisted the urge to snort. "He always does, one way or another. Let's just not give him an invitation next time, all right?" Reyes nodded in reply. "Well then, I think we're done here. Let's go." Derek unhooked his shades from the breast pocket of his jacket and slipped them on, startling when he noticed a piece of paper fluttering down to the ground, displaced from his pocket when he'd removed the shades. Bending to pick it up he couldn't help but let out a resigned chuckle.

Scribbled in by now familiar chicken scrawl was a phone number, no doubt yet another disposable, with the usual messaged underneath.

_'If there's anything you need – **anything**_ _at all – give me a call! Xoxo P.S.S.'_

_._

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**Some notes on this Universe:**

**SBI =** Supernatural Bureau of Investigation (lol so imaginative ikr /shot)

**On Vampires:** They can't produce their own blood and have no heartbeat. They drink the blood of living humanoids (werewolves, humans, witches...etc) and as young they usually drink from many different people. But as they get older they usually confine themselves to one source of blood, which can be done in different ways.

They have "mates" (spouses, husbands/wives, significant others, etc) and if their mate is non-vampire and living in the sense that they produce their own blood, they're their vampire mate's source of blood unless they'd prefer not to. Then the vampire will foster a "feeding" relationship with someone called a "companion", which they can also do without having a mate.

Vampires here are affected by mountain ash, like werewolves, and cannot walk in daylight. They're incredibly fast, faster than werewolves, and strong (though not on par with the wolves). Retractable fangs and claws, they're predators but needs to feed to heal and can be killed by decapitation, starvation and being bled out.

(I'm pretty much bullshitting through this, ok, I'm having way too much fun with the little I've written lol)

**On Werewolves:** Much like the TW 'verse, though I've chosen to have them be able to turn fully into wolves as a final stage of their transformation (should I ever write that in lol).

As for mates, there's no "soul bond" thing going on. Heightened senses lets them assess who'd be more suited as a partner, but other than that *shurgs*


End file.
